The Time it Takes
by Musica Diabolos
Summary: It’s funny, isn’t it, how when there’s so much you could say you don’t end up saying so much? Oneshot, post Ptolemy's Gate. RE-VAMPED JANUARY 28, 2009!


Hello, everyone! Wow, it's been years...I finally decided to re-write this one-shot, a few small changes but I think they make a difference. Enjoy :)

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_So much for your promises._

It's funny, isn't it, how when there's so much you could say you really don't end up saying a lot? Take me, for instance. You just finished saving the world, dying heroically in the process and leaving nothing but a crumpled mass of iron and broken glass behind. You accomplished everything we hoped; everything _I_ hoped.

Then all I can say to you is…why did you lie to me? _Again_?

It's not like I should have expected _you_ to tell the truth. Once a magician, always a magician…isn't that what Bartimaeus said? You'd already betrayed me once; I can't honestly have expected you to pull through this time without a _hint_ of dishonesty. Only one broken promise…that's a record for you, isn't it?

If only it could have been a different promise.

I wish that you had never come to apprehend me at the inn. Have you ever noticed the simplicity that comes with hating someone for the rest of your existence? You could have just carried on your merry little magician's life and left me to think you were a git for all eternity. I never would have known your other side, and you wouldn't have had to show it to anyone but yourself.

I still think you're a smarmy git, by the way. A selfish bastard who would have lied and betrayed me to the very end, if he'd had the chance. I can't imagine having to live with you for more than a day! You're a pompous idiot, a coward and a sneak! You're an arse, as true as they come!

I really wish saying it over and over could make it true.

When it was established that you were definitely…dead, I should have been relieved. For all the reasons stated above. I should have been laughing! I was practically your mortal enemy, sworn to engage in mutual enmity with the world's magicians and you above them all!

Instead, I cried. Just a little bit, mind…you don't really deserve more than that.

I bet you're laughing your head off at me right now. Kitty Jones, rebel and passionate Resistance member, lamenting the death of a magician! It was never supposed to work that way. I didn't even really know you.

That's part of what bothers me so much; your isolation from the rest of the world. Despite politics, and ambition, and that whole package. As if you didn't want to impose your true self, what lay beneath the oily, repugnant surface…your entire life seems to be secrets and lies. As if that's surprising.

I don't know your birthday, or what your favourite colour is. I don't know if you're a tea or a coffee person, or if you like football or cricket. I don't know how many languages you speak, or what ridiculous things they made you learn when you were six. I don't know why you cut your hair that way. I don't even remember the colour of your eyes… but why should this trouble me at all? You're gone, and I should be glad. This is absurd.

At first, I was all right. Like I said, I cried a little, but then I was fine; everyone else thought so, too. I politely refused a seat on the Council, made some travel plans, told everyone what an amazing thing it was that you'd accomplished; I thought everything was going to be all right, that I'd pull through like I always did.

Nobody mentioned to me that I'd have some pretty screwed-up 'stages of grief.' Nobody mentioned how hard it is to move on without someone else annoying you to d – _insanity_ about it, when you're trying to do it alone. Nobody mentioned how long I'll feel like this, and it's hard to guess the time it takes to forget about someone like you.

After a period of being absolutely 'fine,' I cracked up again. I broke like one of those panes of glass in the explosion, and pieces of me are probably going to rain down on the earth. Nobody will ever find them, though, just like nobody ever found your bod - _remains_.

Why can't I stop thinking about this? Why in hell can't I stop crying? I used to be proud of my ability to keep my emotions hidden and hard, drawing into myself and leaving things alone…not anymore. You changed that, and I should hate you for it…I now yearn for the ability to loathe you, for so many things. It would be simpler; all that matters in mutual hatred is that it continues. Maybe I've already said something like that.

So…really, why _did_ you lie to me? Was it some dim-witted reason, like my protection? As if my 'fragile' countenance couldn't bear the burden of the terrible truth? Don't be ridiculous; I knew you would lie to me anyway – or at least I _think_ I did – so, we didn't gain anything that way. You tricked me, you know; lured me into a false sense of security. You made me _want_ to believe you…did you take away all my common sense or something?

Or did you think I wouldn't find out? Kind of hard not to, seeing as you're _dead_. You're dead, and I'm crying about it, and you don't deserve it!

It's so funny how I can't stop repeating myself. Ha ha, look at me laughing again.

Ha ha ha.

How perfectly hysterical I am. You see what you've done to me? You just _had_ to die, didn't you? Lie and die. That rhymes. Your last two deeds on earth, and they _rhyme._ Ha.

Well, I'm tired of it. Tired of waiting to see if I can get over a git like you.

Tired of wondering if I loved you. Yes, I do wonder that. Funny, isn't it?

How long, Nathaniel? How long before I can stop all this nonsense and get on with life?

How long?


End file.
